This Gift
by fourandtwenty
Summary: On Christmas Eve, his only thoughts are of her--and how to get her to say yes.


**This Gift**

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_Merry Christmas!_

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Snow was falling in thick, sparkling flakes, swirling through the night sky in a perfect imitation of the cheap snow globe her mum had bought her two Christmases before. She watched him as he trudged through the snow, his head bent low and his hands thrust into his pockets in a futile attempt to keep them warm. His patched brown trench coat flapped waywardly in the bitter winds, doing nothing but hindering his ability to get through the nearly foot-deep snow that covered the ground. He glanced up only briefly as he stepped onto the porch, his trembling hands slipping out of their respective pockets and patting his sides as he searched for his key. She shook her head and smiled to herself as she moved to unlock the door for him. His coat simply had too many pockets.

"You made it," she said as a greeting once she'd unlocked and opened the ancient front door for him. "I thought you'd never get away from work."

"It was a close call," he admitted as he stepped forward and shook the snowflakes from his hair. She let out a small, playful scream when something cold hit her square in the forehead and he laughed, closing the door behind him. He took a step forward and planted a cold, wet kiss on her lips before flicking the snow off her face. She grinned and snaked her hands underneath his coat, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist as he maneuvered out of the snow-covered frozen garment.

"Harry just left half an hour ago," she informed him, pulling him as close as he'd come. "He was making his rounds—said he was off to visit Ron and Hermione next."

"I see," he said softly, slowly reaching around her to hang his wet coat up on the stand that also held her long, black, fur-lined one, along with an assortment of hats and scarves that may or may not have belonged to either of them. "Did you give him his presents?"

"No," she informed him with an impish smile as she let go of his waist and led him awkwardly into the sitting room, where a large evergreen was sitting in the corner. Faery lights covered nearly every inch and a colorful variation of ornaments hung from every branch of the Christmas tree, underneath which was a great pile of brightly-wrapped gifts. "I conned him into coming over tomorrow morning to see you—told him he wasn't getting his presents until he did. He insisted he'd planned to come anyway since you couldn't get off work soon enough to see him, but I really do think it was the bribery that got him to come."

She shot him a wicked grin as she slowly lowered herself to the couch. A few feet away roared a magnificently sized and deliciously warm fire, one she'd botched twice before finally producing. He sat down beside her and she curled into the warmth radiating from his body, burying her face in his shoulder. She inhaled deeply, reveling in his familiar scent before pulling away and turning to gaze at the Christmas tree.

"Me and my mum used to sit on the couch on Christmas Eve and watch the lights for hours at a time," she murmured, slipping a hand under the fabric of his shirt and tracing an invisible pattern on the small of his back. The action sent shivers down his spine, and he too turned his attention to the colorful tree. None of the usual lights in the room were on; instead the only sources of such were the crackling fire, the faery lights on the tree, and the few candles she'd lit that gave off the delicious smell of vanilla icing.

"I like your mum," he confessed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her a bit closer. "Don't think she likes me much though."

"She likes you," she assured him, her eyes still locked on the tree. "Just thinks you're a bit old for me, that's all. Believe me, compared to some of the blokes I've brought around…let's just say she's probably thanking every deity she can think of that I finally settled on someone who's _normal_—well, sort of."

He chuckled. "I don't blame her one bit. I _am_ old."

She swatted his arm. "No you're not, and if I hear you saying that one more time, I'm taking back your Christmas presents."

"All right, all right," he conceded with another laugh. "You win."

"Greedy bastard," she muttered playfully, giving him a peck on the cheek. "You need to shave."

"It's been a long day," he said apologetically, automatically bringing a hand up to rub his stubbled chin. "Everything all right with you today? You're comfortable and all?"

"It's bearable," she mumbled, adjusting her position on the couch as she spoke. "How many more weeks now is it?"

"Five, love," he said with a small smirk. "Just five. Aren't you the one who's supposed to be keeping track?"

She shrugged. "That's what you're for. I've never been good at that sort of thing, although I suppose I really should make up a calendar or something of the sort." She gave him a hopeful sort of look. "Sure it's not four or maybe even three?"

"I'm sure."

She sighed heavily. "I really should hate you, you know. Every time I go 'round to see my mum and dad now, I always have to explain to them the concept of a non-nuclear family and _why_ we aren't married. She's beginning to think we didn't plan this."

"We didn't," he pointed out as gently as he could. "She has a point though. Why _aren't_ we married?"

She rolled her eyes and craned her neck to glare at him. "Just because _it_ wasn't planned doesn't make _it_ any less loved. And don't you start with the whole marriage bit too, you git. You know why."

"Because of Voldemort and the war?" he asked with as much of a smile as he dared. "Love, I hate to break it to you, but Harry killed the bastard five months ago. I thought _I_ was supposed to be the old one with the failing memory here, not you."

Another smack, although this time to his thigh. "Not _that_ reason. The other reason—the reason where we both agreed that we'd both be comfortable with a marriage that _wasn't_ initiated by a faulty contraceptive charm instead of one that we forced on ourselves for the _'greater good'_."

"Ah, yes, right," he murmured thoughtfully. "That reminds me—I meant to ask you what you thought of perhaps getting the ball rolling after the baby's born. Marriage-wise, I mean."

She gave him an odd look and shifted again so she could look at him properly. "If that was a proposal, that was the worst bloody proposal I've heard in my life."

"Oh?" he asked, amused. He cocked an eyebrow. "And how many marriage proposals, pray tell, have you had in your whole twenty-five years of existence?"

"Almost twenty-six, thank you. And not counting the two I got at Hogwarts, none," she said defiantly, crossing her arms as best she could over her massive belly. "Doesn't mean I don't watch the Muggle telly or go to Muggle films at all though."

He shook his head, chuckling. "I suppose I _could_ do a better job than that."

"You could," she agreed rather stiffly, although he knew it was all a ruse. Her stare had turned back to the colorful lights and he took the opportunity to slip his hand into his trousers pocket. He slid off the couch gracefully and moved to kneel in front of her.

It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. Her eyes glanced from the tree to his position on the floor back to the tree and finally back down to him once more. Her face took on a confused expression, and even in the low light he could see her cheeks color.

"Remus, what—"

"No, it's my turn to speak," he insisted, taking her right hand in his left and lacing his fingers through hers. She immediately quieted, although her forehead creased with perplexity and she stared at him intently.

"I'm not going to go on about how much I love you and how I want to spend the rest of my life with you, because you already know that. What I _do_ want to say is that I'm not doing this to be proper or to make sure our child isn't be born a bastard." At this they both smiled, although she a bit nervously. "I'm doing this because I _want_ to, because I've never been surer about us—because I can't imagine ever falling in love with someone else. Because in the very depths of my being, I _know_ you're the one."

From his pocket he pulled out a black velvet box. Her eyes widened at the sight of it, and when he snapped open the lid to reveal a delicate white-gold ring with a beautiful sparkling diamond set in the center, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. It took all of the willpower he possessed to keep from laughing.

"If you don't say yes today, I'll understand," he said gently, although it killed him to say those words. "Eventually, however, I fully believe you will. This—_us_—it's going to happen. There isn't a doubt in my mind that one day I'll be your husband and you my wife. If you aren't comfortable with this happening right now, however…" He trailed off and paused for a moment. "I just want you to know that I'm ready. I've been ready…and for me there will be no other. There simply isn't room in this old heart of mine."

She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing much as a fish's would. He held the box steady, offering silently as the seconds ticket by agonizingly slowly.

Finally she spoke.

"Remus, I…" She faltered. "I don't know what to say."

"'Yes' will do just fine," he murmured, squeezing her right hand gently. "But, like I said, if you don't feel you're ready—"

"Would you stop with the 'not ready' bit already?" she said suddenly, although not in a way that was harsh or angry—quite the opposite, really, if he was reading her right. "Of course I'm ready, you lousy old git."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is that a yes, love?"

She rolled her eyes, albeit playfully. "_Yes_. Now would you put the bloody ring on my finger already?"

He chuckled and did as she commanded. Plucking the ring from the box, he slipped it onto her left ring finger and watched as the band sized itself properly onto the digit.

"Perfect," she all but whispered, bringing her hand up close to her nose to examine it. "Now get back up on the couch so I can kiss you properly, would you?"

He had no reply to that, so he settled on once again doing as she'd requested and moving back onto the couch. She immediately threw her arms around his neck and gave him a deep kiss that, had anyone else been in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place at the time, would have been highly, highly embarrassing.

She pulled away a minute or so later, mirth dancing in her eyes as she ran her fingers down the center of his chest. "You do realize that I can't change my last name, right?"

"Why?" he asked, taken aback as he gave her a quizzical look. He hadn't been expecting her to say anything like that—and he'd also thought it'd been understood; a tradition that wouldn't have been broken. Then again, she'd always been an odd one.

"Because," she said matter-of-factly, "that would mean everyone would have to start calling me 'Lupin', and that would get far too bloody confusing, don't you think?"

Remus smirked and kissed the corner of her mouth. "Don't worry, love. You'll always be just plain Tonks to me."

She pecked him on the lips and swatted his upper arm again. "There's nothing plain about me and you know it. Now who do I have to marry around here to get a cup of hot chocolate?"

He dropped one more kiss on her forehead and stood. "Four marshmallows or five?"

"Six," she replied cheekily. "Apparently the baby likes them as well. Can't go having the little bugger steal one of mine, now, can we?"

Remus laughed and walked toward the threshold that led out into the foyer. "No, we most certainly can't." He gave her one last long look, drinking in the image of her swollen with child—_his_ child—and bathed in colors from the lights, before journeying onwards to the kitchen.

Once he'd left her sight, Tonks examined the ring again. It was gorgeous, really—simple but stunning. Everything Remus was. She held it up against the lights, watching as the colors reflected in the diamond, creating a spectrum unique to the jewel itself. It was perfect—_this_ was perfect, she thought. Everything was perfect.

As thick, glittering snowflakes fell silently onto the cold ground outside of the house where the deliciously warm and comfortable sitting room was, she snuggled into the hollow in the couch cushions that he'd left behind. It was a happy Christmas indeed.


End file.
